


Wicked Eyes and Weak Hearts

by kawaiikanai



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Achievement Hunter Kings, Angst, Blood, Death, Fluff, M/M, Smut, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-10
Updated: 2015-04-10
Packaged: 2018-03-22 03:44:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,943
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3713710
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kawaiikanai/pseuds/kawaiikanai
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Mad King is known throughout the land as a tyrant, dealing swift justice to any and all who stand in his way or oppose him. Many follow him out of fear, others in respect of his power. When he meets a young lad that starts to bring out a kinder side of him, will he be turning over a new leaf or gaining a weakness?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wicked Eyes and Weak Hearts

A cold wind sweeps over the battlefield, carrying with it the already permeate stench of death. It is a scent that the Mad King is used to, and welcomes in victory. He gazes down at the body before him, placing a foot on the man’s back to steady himself as he wrenches his sword out of the corpse. He gives the sword a quick whip to fling some of the blood off before sheathing it and looking around. The battle is all but won, a few of his enemies still trying to put up a fight but being swiftly taken down by his men. 

It amazes him how word of his conquests travel near and far and yet people still don’t believe his ferocity. He always gives the ultimatum: surrender to him peacefully or parish. He only says it once; after that is whether or not he gains more land and people for his kingdom or if he simply wipes vermin off the face of the earth and gains land in a more, shall we say sullied way. It doesn’t matter to him which way he gains more land for his kingdom just so long as he does; though more people to keep the economy going strong is always good.

“My Lord.” Ryan turns to see one of his most trusted warriors, Sir Michael, stomping towards him over the fallen bodies, a little worse for wear but holding himself up strong in front of his king. “Sir Gavin and I have cleared most of the battlefield and sent any wounded to Sir Jack to be healed.”

“Good, man.” Ryan claps a hand on Michael’s shoulder, seeing Gavin off in the distance picking off any enemy soldiers that move with his bow. “Let us head back to the encampment and count the troops. Hopefully the number of men that surrendered to us will out-weigh our casualties.”

They take their horses back to the camp, just beyond the hill where the battle took place, the remaining troops marching steadily behind them as they regale their triumphs. Gavin tells of one of his arrows piercing straight through one man’s chest and striking another, to which Michael is in disbelief but Gavin insists it is true. Ryan only listens to the two of them bicker back and forth, once in a while chuckling at their stories. He never really speaks of his own fighting, preferring to let the corpses left in his wake to speak for him.

Once back at the camp things settle down, the buzz of excitement from their victory still in the air but all of them drained from the tiring battle. Sir Michael suggests the king get his rest right away and let Sir Geoff go over the numbers with him tomorrow on their trip back to the castle, but Ryan just orders him and Gavin to get to bed themselves.

After taking off his blood stained armor he heads off to find Geoff, the green armored general only just arriving through the gate with the last of the troops, followed closely with a small group of men from the opposing army. Geoff gets off his horse and hands it off to a soldier to be tied before walking right over to Ryan, giving a small bow. “An easy victory, your Highness.” Geoff all but smirks.

“Indeed.” The king agrees, looking over the nervous group of surrendered troops before him. They must know of his reputation and fear of their fate. “How many this time?”

“Roughly 375 men gained, pre-training, and only around 200 lost so far, my Lord.” Geoff informs him. Almost doubling the men lost isn’t a bad number, but who knows how many will make it through his training in order to be worthy of his army? He expects nothing but the best from his men, and has no use of anyone who wouldn’t last a minute out on the field.

“Have your men set up extra cots for tonight. Any men wanting to fight for me will begin training first thing in the morning.” He scans over the crowd, walking alongside the line and examining the faces before him. He turns back to Geoff, leaning in close. “Any that resist can join the corpses on the field.”

“Yes, sir.” Geoff agrees, motioning towards a few of his soldiers to follow him to his general’s tent. Ryan starts to leave as well but is stopped when he hears a commotion coming from Jack’s medical tent. Sighing deeply at another delay in him getting some much needed sleep, he heads towards it.

~

Everything is blurry when Ray finally manages to open his eyes, the back of his head aching terribly. He goes to rub at it but feels his arm being held. “Don’t move, sweetie, I’m still trying to patch you up.” An unfamiliar voice tells him and he tries his best to get his eyes to focus so he can see who it is. A young brunette woman looks down at him, a sweet smile on her face as she works the bandages around his arm. He looks around to see a cluster of soldiers around him, all on cots with various degrees of injuries. Where is he? He’s definitely not in his master’s tent anymore.

It all comes back to him at once; the sound of clashing metal and wails of pain coming from outside of the tent where he’d lied in wait. He was used to the sounds by now, having to follow his master to every battle and wade on him hand and foot just as he did back in their kingdom. The general would then come back and Ray would hope to God that his master had won the battle or else he’d feel his wrath in full. This time, however, his master had not come back once the sound of fighting had died and instead strangers came in and tried to take him. His resistance was met swiftly by a hit to the back of his head.

His eyes land on a broken shield thrown to the corner, the emblem of the cracked crown showing in faded gold paint on the front, and his fears are finally confirmed. Ray yanks his arm away from the woman and jumps up from the cot, the sudden rush of blood making him dizzy but he holds his ground. He’s heard of the Mad King before, a merciless man who has just slain an army of over 1000 in a single night. These people… they are all under the rule of the Mad King. They could be just as ruthless as he.

Ray spots a dagger nestled in the armor of the unconscious soldier in the bed next to his and he lunges for it, pulling it from its sheath and pointing it at the woman in front of him, making her jump back with a shriek. He has to get out of here. If his master is truly gone then… he needs to figure out what he’s going to do. He can’t make it back to the kingdom on his own even if he wanted to. He may be stranded here with these crazed people and the sheer thought of that makes his heart race.

A burly man comes towards him, ushering the woman aside and offering him a hand. “Come, lad, we’re just trying to get you bandaged up.”

How can he trust someone who follows the Mad King? Who in their right mind would willingly live under his reign after all he has done? The slaughtering of armies; the iron fist that shows no mercy to those who oppose him. He feels a shudder crawl up his spine, making another wave of dizziness fall over him, grabbing the ledge of the chest beside him. The man tries to reach out to him then, aiming to take the dagger away but Ray is quick enough to lash out at him, nicking the man’s hand with the blade and making him step back once more.

“What is going on here?” A booming voice asks and all eyes move to the now open curtained entrance, a figure standing there that makes Ray’s eyes go wide and knees weak. The man comes towards them and Ray tries to sink back farther away, but soon meets the wall of the tent. This man… there’s something about him that makes Ray feel uneasy, yet his eyes draw him like a moth to flame. He can’t seem to break away from them.

“My Lord,” the man in front of him says, holding his now bleeding hand. “it is just a startled young lad someone brought back from the battlefield. He was apparently found in their general’s tent.”

The man stops next to the other and stares down at Ray, his eyes leaving a cold chill all over his body. My Lord? Is this truly the Mad King before him? He had imagined the Mad King as a crusty old man, war scarred and grey; not this… remarkably well-looking man with blue eyes that pierce right through him. It puts a whole new look on the stories he’s heard. 

“Must be a slave.” He states, “I have no use for slaves in my kingdom.” Ray’s breath catches as the Mad King draws his sword and points it towards him, the end of the shiny iron blade just inches from his neck.

“Your Highness-“ The man tries to interject but the king raises a hand to silence him.

Ray’s chest heaves from the effort of standing this long, but he must act now and run before he is killed. He takes a deep breath before swinging his measly dagger at the king, hitting nothing but air but it’s enough to make the king take a step back and give him room to bolt, heading for the exit. He hears shouting behind him, but doesn’t look back as he pushes past soldiers and squires alike, looking for a way past all of the people and to the woods he can see just beyond the horizon.

An arrow flies into his path and he grinds to a halt, almost falling face first into the mud. He turns to see a pair of soldiers pointing their bows directly at him, the king moving past them with his sword still out. He motions for them to put their bows down and they do, the king stopping in front of Ray. “Let’s try this again, lad.” The king raises his sword and Ray jumps forward, dagger poised to stab him in the ribs but the king’s sword effortlessly intercepts, striking the dagger from Ray’s hand. It lands in the mud beside him and he makes a dive for it but is blocked by the sword again, making him recoil and fall onto his back.

The tip of the sword meets his chin as he stares up at the Mad King. This is it. This is where he meets his end.

“As I said before, I have no use for slaves in my kingdom.” The man tells him, his voice grave and final. Ray can barely think with how loudly his heart is pumping in his ears. “But I do have use for warriors. If your swordsmanship were half as strong as your will to live, then I might have use for you. What say you? Live and train to be my sword, or die in the mud like the slave you were.”

Ray tries as hard as he can to voice a reply but what adrenaline that was fueling him before has left him. He manages what he hopes is taken for a nod before collapsing in the mud.

The next time he awakes is only briefly and he doesn’t dare open his eyes. He can hear the steady tread of hooves underneath him as he’s bounced with every stride. He wonders how he could be riding a horse in his sleep without falling off when he notices the warm body pressed against his side. The horse whinnies and Ray fumbles for the body next to him, his hand gripping onto the shirt covering a broad chest. It’s so warm and inviting, he finds himself curling up to it, wanting to sink into it and back into sleep.

“Are you awake now?” A low, sultry voice asks him.

“No.” He denies, wanting desperately to fade away and not lose this feeling. He knows if he wakes up properly the reality awaiting him will be crushing.

The voice chuckles, a hand coming to the back of his head, fingers rough but gentle. “Then sleep. You won’t be able to much once we reach the castle.”

Ray doesn’t reply, only obeys; letting sleep take him away again.

~

“He’s still struggling, Sir.” Geoff joins Ryan on the balcony overlooking the troops training down below. It’s been a week since they started training the new soldiers gained from their victory and only a scattered few have failed to meet the requirements. The young lad, Ray according to what he’s heard, is also struggling to earn his keep. 

It’s sad, really. Ryan found the young man interesting. It was rare to see a slave as old as Ray who wasn’t completely broken. After so many years of obedience, the feeling of servitude is ground into people and their will is all but gone. It surprised him how full of energy and gusto he was; so he’d hoped he’d be useful in some way. 

Even still, Ryan planned to find some place for him in his castle. The lad intrigued him too much to let go; not to mention he wasn’t the only eyes the lad had caught. He’d seen how some of the soldiers looked at him, want in their eyes that should not be directed towards a lad so innocent. He ended up having to carry the young man on his own horse to keep him away from the troops; not wanting to have to kill some of his own men so soon after battle. He can’t always control the debauchery that happens in his kingdom, but he’d be damned if he let it happen in his very own camp.

“It’s a shame,” Geoff tells him, “I thought the lad would show some skill, but… so far it’s like watching a little boy playing soldier with a stick.” 

Shouting down below gains their attention, spotting Michael angrily throwing his sword down on the ground and stomping forward. Ray, down on the ground and practice sword broken, tries to scurry away but Michael catches him by the collar, pulling him up. “How many times do I have to teach you to parry correctly? Are you lame in the head?” He shoves him back down to the ground and grabs up his sword again, taking a deep breath. “Again!”

Ray stands with his blunt sword, but doesn’t raise it. “But Sir, my sword is broken.” 

“Do you think you’ll have the finest of weapons and armor out on that field?” Michael thrusts his sword towards him and Ray is barely able to dodge to the side in time. “You may face a swarm of men with nothing but your fists to defend you. Do you think they’ll stop to gather you a sword so it’s a fair fight?” Michael swipes at him again and Ray falls to the ground, blocking the sword once with what little remained of his own before rolling away to avoid another blow.

“Michael’s being a little rough with the lad.” Ryan mumbles, leaning on the stone railing as he watches the struggle.

Geoff raises an eyebrow at him. “Nothing he wouldn’t do to any other soldier. Besides, he’s still a little sour with him for pointing a dagger at his wife.”

Ryan supposes he’s right, but the lad looks so scared out of his wits compared to the normal soldier. He must have never wielded a sword before in his life. “He’s not a soldier. He’s a man trying to reclaim his life for his own.” Ryan points out, “By the looks of him he’s probably been in slavery his whole life.” Just in the way he holds himself, Ryan can tell that he’s used to being submissive, not defending himself against attack but taking it silently as he was commanded. His grip on the practice sword looks timid, like it doesn’t belong in his hands. 

Ryan leaves the balcony to wander back to his throne room, knowing he has some business to attend to soon, greeting a foreign dignitary and such. He’d leave some of the more political stuff to Geoff, not only his general but adviser as well, but Geoff had a much lighter tone about things than him. He would probably let more things slide by than Ryan would, so he likes to handle these sort of affairs himself. 

The king takes a seat on his throne, thankful he only has to see to one guest today. If there were multiple he’d have to throw a big welcoming feast and festivities and he just wasn’t in the mood for that at the moment. The dignitary is shown in and Ryan does his best to pay attention to whatever the man has to say but his mind wanders. 

Surely the lad must have some talent? Such a strapping young man; it’d be a waste if he didn’t. It’s not the first time the king has had his eye on someone, but they never seemed to pan out. His reputation as a mad man is hard for people to get past, but he’d never let it die. It’s much easier to rule over the land through fear than through love. Love can die, whereas fear can be instilled time and time again.

Geoff nudges him and Ryan focuses back on the Duke before him, offering trade from a faraway kingdom for the land that he just acquired. Apparently Lord Burns has had his eye on the land for a while now and is ready to offer almost anything in order to get it. “Geoff, have Kerry write up a message to King Burns asking for more details on his offers and the Duke here can have one of his men carry it to him.”

Ryan offers the Duke a place to stay while they await word back from his king, a sign of hospitality just in case he’s interested in anything Burns has to offer, then leaves. Geoff speaks to him about a few more matters as he heads to his chambers, speaking of new armor for the troops to replace what was damaged and something about a feast at the end of the week to celebrate their victory. Ryan had been putting off the celebration, dreading having to deal with the noisy crowd of nobles and having to make some sappy speech, but he agrees to both before sending Geoff off. He calls for one of the servants to get a bath ready in his room, wanting to soak before retiring for the night.

Almost to his door, he stops, hearing a voice echo down the hall. “Ay, there. Where you goin’, lad?” Ryan raises an eyebrow and peeks around the corner just before his room, wondering who could be wandering around this area besides one of the servants. He sees a noble leaning his hand on the stone wall, peering down at a wide-eyed Ray, clutching some linen to his chest. “You’re that slave boy, right?”

“U-um…” Ray’s lip quivers, scared to answer. “N-no-“

“That’s not what I heard.” The man’s other hand comes up to grab Ray’s hair, pulling his head back to look up at him more. “I heard you were that bastard general’s favorite little toy, yeah? I bet you pleased him real good.” The man chuckled lowly and Ryan could feel his blood boiling. “How’s about you come with me for a while and-“

“That’s quite enough.” Ryan comes around the corner, not able to stand by any longer.

The noble’s head whips towards him and he immediately backs away, holding up his hands. “S-Sire, I was just-“

Ryan takes a few steps towards him, hand clasped around his sword hilt and eyes burning a hole through the man’s skull. “Leave.”

“B-but-“

“Leave.” Ryan bellows, “Before I have you sent to the rack.”

The noble’s face grows pale and he scurries past Ryan without another word. Once the footsteps fade, the king turns back to Ray, who hasn’t moved a muscle since Ryan appeared. Ryan’s face softens, looking down at the lad. “Are you alright?”

Ray gulps, not sure what just happened, but manages a nod. He was just trying to bring a towel to the lady like she had asked him to, but that man had stopped him. It wasn’t the first time someone from the court or one of the soldiers had approached him or made a comment towards him, but that has by far been the most aggressive of the lot. If the king hadn’t have stepped in, Ray isn’t sure if he’d have been able to slip away like the other times.

“What are you doing in the castle anyway?” Ryan asks him, quirking an eyebrow. “Why aren’t you at the barracks?”

“I…” Ray lowers his eyes, hugging the towel closer to his chest. “I wasn’t much use there, so- They sent me to run errands and help the servants.”

“I see.” Michael must have finally gotten so frustrated trying to train him that he gave up.  
The door to his chambers just a few feet away opens and a handmaiden pokes her head out, looking around. “There you are, boy… Oh! My Lord, I have your bath ready for you.”

Before Ray can say a word, the king places a hand on his back and ushers him towards the open door. He didn’t know when the lady asked him that she was making bath for the king! He wanted to throw the towel at her and run away but instead the hand on his back pushes him past the doors and into the room. He’s never seen a more extravagant and lovely room. A roaring fire drenches the room in an orange glow, accentuating the reds and golds of the furniture and art. A set of armor sits proudly off to the side on a stand, light flickering off of its shiny metal. 

“I need no further assistance from you, thank you.” Ryan tells the handmaiden and she curtsies before leaving. Ray looks to a table near the awaiting tub and goes to set the towel down on it so he can leave as well. “You may stay.”

Ray stops in his tracks, sputtering. “I-“ He knows it was more of a command than giving permission. “D-do you…”

Ryan unbuckles the belt hung around his waist and sets his sword against the poster of his bed, turning back to the young man. “Do I what?”

Ray can feel the burning in his cheeks, embarrassed by the thought tumbling in his head. “Do you… want me to…” He presses his lips together and motions towards the bath sitting in the middle of the room, steam rising from it.

Ryan looks to the bath then back at the lad, a smirk growing on his face. “I am perfectly capable of bathing myself.”

Ray lets out a breath of relief, glad he wouldn’t have to endure that awkwardness. He’d had to give his former master baths before, but it was different. It was just another task he had to do, nothing more. With the king… he was simultaneously attracted to him and scared stiff by him. It was a dilemma he didn’t know how to deal with, so he’d been sticking with his usual emotion: fear. 

The king starts to undress himself and Ray turns away, staring off towards the opposite wall until he hears water splashing and a sigh of content from the older man. Ray dares to look back at him once again and the king was thoroughly sunk down into the hot water, eyes closed and as relaxed as could be. He looks, dare Ray say, docile compared to his usual menacing self.

Ryan lifts a hand and motions for Ray to come closer and the lad does, taking small steps until he’s just next to the bath. Ryan opens an eye to look at him and another smile grows on his face when he sees the young man looking everywhere but down at him. “Sit.” He tells him. Ray bites his lip before sitting down right there on the floor, resting the towel he’s still holding in his lap. “So, I take it your training with Sir Michael hasn’t been going well?”

“No, Sire.” Ray looks down at his lap, playing with the corner of the towel. He’s been trying his best, but he doesn’t seem to get any better. All the hacking and slashing and running about; it just didn’t feel natural to him.

“I assume you’ve never fought before.” Ryan picks up the wash cloth left on the edge of the tub and begins to wash himself, waiting for a reply.

“No, Sire.” Ray mumbles.

Ryan sits up, “Because you had no need to. You were given a place to live and eat in exchange for absolute obedience. If you didn’t obey, you would have been punished or killed.” He sighs deeply, “The life of a slave is simple and cruel.”

Ray nods, thinking the king is too busy to notice but he does. Ryan leans over the side of the tub, resting his chin on his arms and looking down at Ray. Ray looks up and is startled at how close the king was to him, holding back a yelp. “You are free now, however.” The king tells him, “You must make your own decisions and live for yourself, not for others. You could live here and make a name for yourself. You could bury your past in the dirt and make your name something to be feared, not tread upon.”

Ray doesn’t know what to say to that. Never in his life had he been given the option and he thought he never would. To think that he could be somebody that people would look up to instead of looked down upon… “I’d like that.” He says, feeling his heart swell.

The king smiles down at him and Ray feels his cheeks once again burn at the sight. “Good.” The man grabs the ledge of the bath and Ray turns away as the king stands up, blindly holding out the towel for him to take. 

Ryan takes it and steps out of the tub, drying himself off before throwing on some pants. “The first step, however, is ceasing in doing servant work.” Ryan walks over to a cabinet, throwing the towel around his neck before opening it. Inside sits an array of swords, all ones he’s collected in his years. Some are fancily decorated and encrusted with jewels, others are fairly worn and well used. “You will continue to work on your swordsmanship; however…” He grabs a small sword on the far side and closes the cabinet, “I think we will try something different.”

The king approaches Ray with the sword, feeling his heart begin to thump as he stands up but when the elder man reaches him, he holds the sword out for him to take. He hesitates before taking the sword from the man’s hands and is surprised at how light it is. The sword he’d been practicing with was about the same length, but bulky and awkward. This sword is much thinner and the handle feels the perfect size in his hand.

“I used to use this sword when I was a little younger than you.” Ryan tells him, “It’s a bit smaller than a regular sword, but that also makes it swifter.” Ryan moves to his bed and sits on the edge of it, Ray still staring down at the sword in his hands like it were treasure. “Sir Michael’s brash way of fighting doesn’t seem to suit you very well, so you can train with that sword instead.”

Ray looks up at him, taking a few steps towards him, then stopping, pressing his lips together. “I- I couldn’t just take this-“

“You can.” Ryan says, giving him an assuring smile. “Practice on your own with it for a while and try to get a feel for it. I’ll ask Michael to find someone else to train you.”

“I…” Ray doesn’t know what to say. The king himself has given him a beautiful sword and treated him so kindly… Ray clutches the sword to his chest before bowing deeply, fingers trembling at the urge to cry. “Thank you so much, My Lord. I’ll try my best to learn how to fight.”

“Good lad.” Ryan laughs softly, “Now, get going.” He pulls off the towel from around his shoulders and tosses it at Ray, it landing on his head. Ray pulls it off and Ryan hears the hint of a giggle behind a small smile. The sound makes his chest warm and he hopes it isn’t the only time he will hear it.

Ray bows once more then quickly leaves the king’s chambers, closing the door behind him before leaning on it. He looks down at the sword in his hands, his first ever real possession, and his smile grows wider. He’ll try his best to learn how to fight and defend himself. He’ll make people ever forget he was a slave. 

He’ll become someone the king can keep smiling at.


End file.
